


te fenua te mālie

by elisela



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Christopher Diaz is a National Treasure, Disney Songs, Established Relationship, Family Fluff, M/M, Married Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:53:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23863327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elisela/pseuds/elisela
Summary: The first notes of music blast out of the sound system Buck had insisted on setting up in the house, spilling out of the speakers in what sounds like every room except for the one that Eddie is currently laying in, half wishing that his boys would just sleep in for once. He knows they would push it back, if he asked, but he also knows that this is their thing, their weekly bonding time, their Sunday morning routine that doesn’t have anything to do with him unless he wants it to. They won’t come looking for him; Buck and Chris will happily include him if he joins in, but they never push him, never even offer.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz
Comments: 21
Kudos: 273





	te fenua te mālie

**Author's Note:**

> [HAPPY CHRIS WEEK](https://chrisdiazweek.tumblr.com) day 7! Yes, I missed yesterday. That one got a little away from me ... hopefully it'll be done in a few days. Anyway welcome to the most self-indulgent, absolutely useless thing I have ever written in my life, solely because the image of Evan Buckley singing "You're Welcome" makes me laugh until I cry.

On Sunday mornings, Eddie wakes up at 8:00.

Always 8:00.

The first notes of music blast out of the sound system Buck had insisted on setting up in the house, spilling out of the speakers in what sounds like every room except for the one that Eddie is currently laying in, half wishing that his boys would just sleep in for once. He knows they would push it back, if he asked, but he also knows that this is their thing, their weekly bonding time, their Sunday morning routine that doesn’t have anything to do with him unless he wants it to. They won’t come looking for him; Buck and Chris will happily include him if he joins in, but they never push him, never even offer. 

Eddie thinks he wants to, today.

The songs and the food are different every week, but the scene never is. By the time Eddie has flipped the blankets off himself and staggered to the bathroom, wincing at the cold tile beneath his feet, the song playing is on its third repeat of the morning. Chris has been into repetition lately, and as much as Eddie loves his son, he might sneak away for a jog instead of eating breakfast if this continues much longer. 

He washes up and makes his way to the kitchen, letting the doorway hold his weight as he watches his family. It may be raining outside, but his husband’s and son’s smiles hold enough light for him, their happiness and laughter blanketing the room in warmth, and Eddie can’t help but push himself upright and wander over to them.

The song repeats again.

Chris is busy at the table, pulling strips of bacon out of a package and placing them carefully on a baking sheet, singing at the top of his lungs, occasionally using his fists to match the drumbeat against the table. Eddie lets him be, ruffling his hair as he passes him, matching his smile as he steps behind Buck and wraps an arm around his waist, pulling him against him.

“Morning,” he says, nuzzling his chin against the back of Buck’s shoulder.

Buck tilts his head back briefly, pressing it against Eddie’s before he straightens back up. He doesn’t pause in his singing—not as loud as Chris is, but Eddie can hear him sing _te fenua te mālie_ as he reaches to the side for a cup of iced coffee and places it next to Eddie’s hand on the counter. 

“Best husband,” Eddie says, leaning forward to press a kiss against Buck’s cheek before grabbing the cup and turning to join Chris at the table, pausing to grab the canister of disinfecting wipes from under the sink, knowing that although Chris will do his best to clean up, he’ll need a little help this time.

“Hi Dad,” Chris says cheerfully. “Can you change the music? My hands are sticky.”

Eddie keeps his face neutral, trying not to show his utter relief at not having to listen to _We Know the Way_ for the fifth time. He pulls the tablet closer, noticing that it’s already open to their Disney playlist. “What are we listening to?”

“It’s my turn to choose,” Buck says, and Chris makes a noise of protest.

“Is not! It’s your turn to _sing_ ,” he says, placing the last slice of bacon down. “Let me see the songs,” he demands, turning towards Eddie. Eddie scrolls slowly until Chris exclaims, “ah ha!” and jams his finger at a selection—Eddie pulls the tablet back in an attempt to minimize the amount of household objects that need disinfecting but isn’t fast enough. 

Buck laughs when he hears the first notes of _You’re Welcome_ float through the air and Eddie groans. He’s seen this one before; Buck really hams it up during this routine, gets into it with the flexing and cocky attitude.

Chris loves it.

Eddie kinda does, too.

He puts the pan in the oven and takes advantage of Chris’ distraction to pick him up and carry him, shrieking, to the sink. Buck’s singing into a wooden spoon on the other side of the room, waggling his eyebrows as he sings “I know it’s a lot, the hair, the bod—when you’re staring at a demi-god,” and Chris doesn’t take his eyes off him, allowing Eddie to soap up and wash his hands before letting him go. 

Eddie takes a seat at the table again, not bothering to hide what is probably a ridiculously sappy look on his face as he watches his boys begin cracking eggs together, Chris sitting on Buck’s lap. He’s too big for it now, not that it stops him, and he doesn’t need Buck’s hand over hand help, but Chris has always craved Buck’s attention and affection and allows Buck to get away with more than Eddie can now days. Eddie has a lot to be grateful for, but he’s pretty sure that the first thing on his list is the way that Buck had placed Christopher at the top of his priority list and had never strayed from that. He sees Buck’s influence so clearly on his son every day in the easy way he carries himself, in the way he laughs, in the way he _loves_. 

Their sing-along continues, all songs they know by heart, burned into Eddie’s memory from nights spent wrapped up in each other on the couch. He’s content to sit and watch them trade affectionate nudges and looks, the comfortable way they in which tease and encourage each other twisting his stomach up in butterflies and making him fall a little deeper. Eddie’s been trying to get better about showing his emotions, and it comes more easily during moments like these; he doesn’t think he could stop staring at them like they’re all he needs in the world even if he wanted to. 

“Dad, do you want to sing?” Chris asks, once Buck’s put the last slice of french toast into the frying pan. 

“Why not,” Eddie says, and Chris’ eyes light up. “Just pick something I know.”

Chris sets an armload of toppings on the table and reaches for the tablet. “I know just the song for you,” he says. Eddie hears a cry come from the speakers, followed by a guitar, and he smiles.

“I’m a little more than _un poco loco_ about you guys,” he says, pulling Chris into his lap when he comes near and singing, mostly off key. Chris joins in halfway through the song, leaning on Eddie like he could stay there forever, and Eddie never wants Sunday morning to end.


End file.
